


The One with the Death Rays

by verbaepulchellae



Series: Sticky, Noisy and Messy [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Babysitting, Domestic, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-11
Updated: 2012-04-11
Packaged: 2017-11-03 10:11:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbaepulchellae/pseuds/verbaepulchellae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade's son's answer to every problem is: "blow it up!" He should have known better than to leave his kid at Sherlock's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One with the Death Rays

**Author's Note:**

> First part of an intended series... let's see if that works out, shall we?

“Sorry,” Lestrade says, Michael swinging from his arm, “I couldn’t think where else to take him. All my usual sitters were busy.”

“Oh it’s no problem,” John says, “I was planning on a quiet night in anyway.”

“It is a problem,” Sherlock shouts from the kitchen, “221 B is not a daycare, Lestrade.”

Lestrade grimaces and John shakes his head. “Ignore him. It’s really no problem.”

“Thanks,” Lestrade says, handing Michael’s backpack to John. “Anyway, he has homework, right Michael? And when he’s done there’s a book for him to read or some paper for him to draw, but if he doesn’t want to do any of that, the telly’s fine. Bedtime around 9.”

“Dad!” Michael says, “Dad, you know what? You should just get lots of fireworks and just, just blow up the bad guys hideout! That would be so cool!”

“Yeah, and a lot of paperwork.” Lestrade says. He swings Michael up into his arms for a hug. “Be good for Uncle John, alright?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“That’s a good lad.” He puts Michael back down on the floor, and the boy scurries over to the table, towing his backpack after him. “Oh,” Lestrade says as an after thought, “try to keep the matches away from him.”

*

Michael Lestrade is a good kid. He’s eight years old and spends the week with his mum and weekends with his dad. He likes science and reading and drawing pictures. But he especially likes science because there are explosions and fire. Sometimes, when he’s at Dad’s flat, Dad has to leave him with a sitter because There Are Bad Guys to Catch, and that’s fun too, because he draws pictures of Dad with blow torches and grenades and sometimes Death rays beating the bad guys, who are all big and ugly. 

*

“Would you like some dinner, Michael?” John asks as he looks over the boy’s homework.

Michael looks up from his drawing and nods, “Yes, Uncle John. Can I have pizza?”

“Sherlock,” John calls, “Do we have the number for that new pizza place?”

There’s a banging from the closed bedroom door and Sherlock sticks his head out, looking vaguely annoyed. “How should I know, I don’t like pizza.”

John shakes his head and smiles at Michael. “He means he hasn’t ever tried pizza.” Michael giggles and John hands him back his homework. “This is very good Michael. What say you and I pop out to the Pizza place and you can choose whichever pizza you like?”

“Really? Even one with no vegetables?”

“Yep- it can be all meat and cheese if you like.” Michael abandons his pens and paper on the table and scrambles for his coat.

They not only go to the Pizza place, but John takes them to get ice cream for dessert and picks up curry for Sherlock’s dinner. Michael carries the carton of ice cream and hold’s John’s hand when they cross the street. 

“Are you and Sherlock married?” Michael asks.

John laughs and shakes his head, “No, but many people like to think we are, in a way.”

“Oh,” Michael says. “Because Dad and Mum aren’t, and they don’t live together. Do people live together who aren’t married?”

“Sometimes,” John says, “Because they get along and like each other’s company, or because it’s cheaper to live in a place with a friend.”

“Oh, ok.” Michael says, and then. “Why do you live with Sherlock?”

“Because he’s insufferable,” John says gently, “And I can’t live without him.”

When they get back, Sherlock isn’t hiding in his room anymore, but is sitting at the living room table looking at Michael’s homework.

“Is this what they teach in school these days?” He asks, holding up a science sheet. “They’ve completely over simplified everything, and left out the most important parts!”

“It’s primary school, Sherlock.” John hands him the curry bag and Sherlock sniffs at it hopefully before opening it and picking out chunks of lamb. Michael clambers up on the seat next to him and begins coloring again as John gets plates from the kitchen.

“What’s that?” Sherlock asks, peering over at Michael’s drawing.

“It’s my Dad,” Michael says, “See? He has a death ray and he’s killing all these Bad Guys.” He holds up the picture so Sherlock can look.

“That’s a death ray?” Sherlock asks.

“Yeah,” Michael points to the contraption in Lestrade’s stick figure hands, “Right there. See? That’s the trigger, and that’s, that’s where it converts the solar beams into the death frying power, and then in here,” he rubs his finger over the long barrel, “that’s where it gets more power, because there are mirrors and stuff, and then, then it all shoots out of here, and sizzles everyone to death.” 

Sherlock stares hard at the picture. “But that would never work. One would need to magnify the solar beams hundreds of times before they ever got powerful enough to kill anyone. And besides that,” he continues as he takes the drawing out of Michael’s hands, “there’s no way to direct the beam once it’s that powerful, not in a weapon this size, though I suppose if you used mirrors not in the barrel but at the very tip you could potentially direct the beam if there mirrors themselves didn’t melt.” 

“Sherlock,” John warns, and Sherlock looks up to see Michael staring at him in fascination. John puts the pizza down in front of Michael. “Go on, eat up.”

Michael takes a bite of pizza, chews and swallows, then puts the pizza back down. “Wow, you’re a real scientist.” 

“The term is mad scientist,” John chuckles as he swipes Sherlock’s curry and pours the uneaten sauce onto his own plate of rice. 

“Do you have a lab?” Michael asks.

“Not currently, because John won’t move out of his bedroom into m-“

“Sherlock,” John cuts him off sharply. “He uses the kitchen as a lab,” he tells Michael. 

“That’s brilliant,” Michael says and then takes another bite of pizza when John catches his eye. “Could you design a real death ray?” 

“Easily,” Sherlock says, leaning back and returning to picking at the diminished curry, “the principles behind it aren’t that hard, the only real issues, as I said, would be concentrating the power in that small of a weapon and directing the ray. And perhaps getting the correct materials.”

Michael takes back his picture and then turns it over. “You could make it a bit bigger, right?” he begins to sketch again. “That might be harder to carry though. Dad is strong but…”

“You could make it something you put on your back, like your backpack, you could attach straps so it was easier to manage.” Sherlock nicks Michael’s pen and slides the paper toward him once more, leaving smudges of curry sauce on the edges. He begins to sketch. Michael gets up from his seat, abandoning his food and walking around to Sherlock to get a better look.

“Yeah, that’s really cool.” Michael says, “And you could add… yeah, exactly.” He puts a hand on Sherlock’s knee and Sherlock moves his arm so Michael can see. “Can I…” Michael begins to ask, and Sherlock makes a noise of consent and lets Michael clamber onto his lap.  
Michael props his chin in his hand watches Sherlock sketch and scribble calculations on the side of the paper, and then sketch another version, sketch several models from different angles. “I like that one,” Michael says, pointing to the third version. “It looks like it has wings.”

“That one is a bit bulkier than the others, but it certainly could obtain the most power,” Sherlock agrees. “Here, pass me that sheet and we’ll figure out the materials we need.”

John finishes his dinner, urges Michael to have a few more bites of his pizza and then sits down with his laptop on the sofa and considers blogging about babysitting, but decides it’s a bit unethical. When the clock strikes 9, Sherlock and Michael have three sheets of paper full of calculations, sketches and lists upon lists of materials they might need. 

“Come on, Michael, it’s time for bed,” John prods gently. 

Michael looks up in distress. “But Uncle John! Uncle Sherlock just said we could make a model of it.”

“I know that, but your Dad might use that Death Ray on me if I don’t get you to bed on time. Come on, how about I read you a story?”

Michael looks distraught but slides off Sherlock’s lap without further complaint. “Can I have two stories?” he asks as he follows John to the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

“You most certainly can. Would you like Sherlock to read one of them?”

Michael shrugs, “No, that’s ok. I want you to read to me.”

“Sure thing,” John says. They read one of the original Grimm fairy tales, and then a picture book that Michael brought in his backpack. John’s just finishing the second book, when they hear Sherlock coming up the stairs. Sherlock waits by the door until John has finished and then he crosses the room and perches on the edge of John’s bed. “Goodnight,” John says. “If you need either of us we’ll be downstairs. And your Dad said he’d pick you up in the morning for school.”

“Alright,” Michael agrees.

“About the Model,” Sherlock says, “Do you mind if it’s made out of toothpicks and aluminum foil?”

“Full scale?” Michael asks

“I’d say more like 5-1.”

“Ok,” Michael says.

“But this is just until we have the proper materials,” Sherlock says, “then I’ll construct it properly.”

Downstairs, John tidies up the left over food and sits down at the table while Sherlock begins gluing toothpicks together. “You know Lestrade is going to kill you, right?”

Sherlock shrugs, “Then he won’t ask us to babysit again, will he?”

“You didn’t mind it.”

Sherlock is quiet, absorbed in his work and John puts the kettle on. He makes two cups of tea and adds milk and sugar to Sherlock’s and lemon in his own. When he sits back down at the table Sherlock is half way through the Miniature Death Ray and he takes the tea with muttered thanks.

“You’d be good, you know,” John says, tracing the edge of his mug with his thumb, “as a Father.”

“No,” Sherlock says, tongue between his teeth as he tries to make the toothpick structure into something three-dimensional, “I’d be just like my father… and look where that got me.” He glances up at John and smiles a bit, clearly trying to get a laugh. When he catches sight of John’s face, he frowns and looks back down at his organized groups of toothpicks. “Be serious, John.”

“I am serious Sherlock,” John says, and then, “so what’s on the telly tonight?”

“A new Law and Order. Excessively obvious, it was the pimp.”

“Want to watch?”

“Absolutely.”

*

When Lestrade stops by at 7 am sharp to pick up Michael, there’s a perfectly accurate model of a Death Ray sitting on the kitchen table and a note addressed to him that reads:

_I’ve promised Michael the next time he comes over that I’ll help him assemble a real one. Don’t hesitate to delight us with his presence again. SH_

And then scrawled underneath that, John added:

_But it actually wasn’t a problem. We had a lovely time. Do bring him by again. JW_

And under that, 

_I didn’t say it was a problem. I was just stating facts. Your son has a promising future. SH_


End file.
